7. The Second Coming; and The Safe Deliverance
We could only assume Father had sustained no fractures, or at least none that were serious, because early the next day he and Brother SanSistez took the school ute and disappeared down the road to Ingham.
“Brother SanSistez will be back this afternoon,” Mrs Finnegan informed us from the front door of the dormitory. “He’s left instructions for you boys to review the next term’s studies and tidy up around the dorm. Father has more serious business to attend to and may be away for a day or so.”
This information was greeted with a shocked silence as each boy contemplated his last misdemeanour and wondered whether it really was serious enough to warrant involving the police. As soon as Mrs Finnegan was out of earshot the seemingly disciplined silence was transformed into a tumult as everyone tried to arrange witnesses, alibis and backings-up via bribery, coercion and loud shouting.
Then pillows started flying and chaos descended as the air became thick with their contents. Boys were yelling, locker doors slammed, scuffles broke out, drawers and chairs were hurled about and beds overturned.
When caught “en fragrant delicto” as someone once put it, our explanation for this sort of behaviour was usually, “Mulligan (or the name of any Junior boy present) thought he saw a taipan, Father!” By previous arrangement and certain threats, the boy, when questioned, would heartily agree – usually with detailed elaborations.
It never worked.
Suddenly into this uproar came an even louder din. It quickly rose to a mighty crescendo then abruptly ceased.
The rioters all froze, assuming they were somehow responsible. And despite different standards applying when unsupervised its noise-level far exceeded any acceptable level. We looked about dumbly, each caught in the middle of some vigorous action, much in the manner of an old-time photographic portrait-pose. The only things to remain in motion as we held this dramatic tableau were the clouds of slowly descending feathers. That was soon put to rights, however.
Just as we were getting back into the swing of things Mrs Finnegan returned. She put her head in the door once more and said, “By golly, you boys have really excelled yourselves this time. I could actually hear you over in the presbytery kitchen ... with the wireless going. I think it might be a jolly good idea if you got everything in here properly straightened up before Brother Sansistez gets back.”
“Will Father be bringing the police, Mrs Finnegan?” asked one of the Junior boys, a floppy sort of kid we called Peter Rabbit. His name – I swear – really was Peter Abbot.
“I can hardly imagine Father hearing your din from as far away as Townsville,” she replied – an answer we found somewhat cryptic. Certainly it did nothing to clarify the issue or assuage our apprehensions.
Rosie had been having the most fun during the melee. Now he announced in a voice loud enough and bossy enough to reassure Mrs Finnegan as she departed that everything was under control, “Listen everyone, we’re going to tidy up – right now. I want you all to start with your own areas. It won’t take long.” He then headed for the back door.
“Oh yeah,” Donger Bell yelled after him. “So where the hell are you goin’ then?” (Donger was Rosie’s best friend. His surname had nothing to do with his nickname.)
“Don’t worry, I’ll come back and do my share,” Rosie replied sarcastically. “I’m just going out for a leak.”
He was back in an instant, eyes wide. “Gees, come an’ look at this!” he yelped …and nearly got knocked down in the rush as we stampeded out through the doorway he was occupying – any excuse to get out of tidying the dormitory being quickly acted upon. Mostly, though, it was to ensure our witnessing the Martian invasion fleet, destruction of the school by tornado, Second Coming or whatever, before it passed by.
And we weren’t too disappointed. No longer was there any ablutions block obstructing our view of the distant mountains from the veranda … should we wish to enjoy this uplifting scene.
“Well, that explains the terrific noise,” muttered Duffy, conveniently overlooking our own considerable contribution.
“Yeah, a self-collapsing shower block,” observed Bruce Rotkinson in a dead-pan manner. (Rocky had a particularly droll wit, despite his intellectual shortcomings.)
Then came a muffled cry for help from the surprisingly small pile of fibro, corrugated iron, pipe-work, timber and termite-mud which had comprised the somewhat free-standing structure. We all looked around to confirm what we thought we’d heard and to identify any possible absentee.
It’s Titch!” several boys shouted in unison, and we instantly threw ourselves into the job of uncovering our diminutive classmate.
“Stop, you kids! Stop! Everybody, less noise!” yelled Rosie as he tried to determine where Titch was hidden. “You all right, Titch?”
“Yeah, I’m all right; I just can’t move much.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Nah. I just got no room.”
“Well where are you? Where were you when it all fell in?”
“In the second shower stall, what’s left of it. I came in here to hide when the pillow fighting started and when I sat down on the bench everything sort of fell to pieces.”
We then went back to uncovering Titch but this time in a much more orderly manner, and soon found him huddling in a tiny wedge-shaped space in the middle of the mostly flat-lying debris. This small pyramid had somehow formed around him and protected him from the collapsing roof.
“Gees Titch, weren’t you scared?” asked Peter Rabbit after we’d helped him out.
“Course I was bloody scared!” answered Titch. “Rocky always bashes me up whenever there’s a pillow fight. That’s why I hid in the showers.”
“We give thanks O Lord, for the guidance and protection given our friend and classmate Peter Tischler during a moment of terrible peril,” Father O’Long said in prayer the following Sunday. “How clearly O Lord we see Your Hand in his safe deliverance.”
“...What I don’t see too clearly,” hissed Rock, “is why His Hand didn’t give the stupid thing a shove when there was no bugger in there.”
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